


As His Grace Desires

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Series: Unplanned Nuptials [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, Hubbahubba, Marriage, Marriage Bed, PWP, Sandor’s surprise, Sex, Smut, eventual love, joffrey and his stupid ideas, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Westerosi A/U, SanSan: Joffrey is on a rampage, forcing all the young ladies  of his court to choose a husband. Not expecting his name to be called, Sandor Clegane soon finds himself unexpectedly married to Sansa Stark.A lighthearted smutty fic.





	1. Something to Get Used To

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Как пожелает Его Милость](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985959) by [Mary_Kasey_07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Kasey_07/pseuds/Mary_Kasey_07)



> I’ve been traveling a lot these days and not had the time I need to focus on the more serious stuff I have ongoing. This fic though has been written while waiting for flights and on planes....flowing pretty easy. I am cursed to start more projects than I can finish in a reasonable time, but at some point I always cycle back to what I have been working on ;-)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Sansa**

 

A cool night’s breeze whirled through her bedroom, giving Sansa cause to stirr in her half sleep. Autumn had come to King’s Landing. The days were warm, she could still wear her silks, but the nights had become cold. No longer accustomed to the freezing temperatures of the North, Sansa shivered when the fresh air met her skin, prompting her to take a deep breath while she searched for her blankets. Her hands tentatively moved across the bed, venturing further and further from her body in a vain attempt to locate an extra bit of warmth against the night air. Her efforts were all for naught, as a huge arm wrapped around her, pulling her to the center of her bed and back to the man who had been sleeping there.

Smiling at his gesture, Sansa turned to face his massive chest, searching out the crook of his neck with her cheek and settling flush with his body. He was a man cast in the form of a god, the statues in the sept were a testament to that. As such, he radiated warmth, so much so that it didn’t matter where that silly blanket had wandered off to. The blood in his veins ran warmer than the Dornish summer, threatened to have her break a sweat though she lay together nude with him. That heat, combined with his large arm around her, was all that she needed. Breathing in his spicy scent, Sansa threw her leg over his, wincing slightly when the apex of her thighs came into contact with the hard muscles of his upper leg.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“I told you.” Came Sandor’s raspy, yet playful voice from the darkness.

Sansa rolled her eyes at his words, knowing he couldn’t see them in the blackness of the room. He was referring to something he had told her earlier in the night, as she had urged him to couple with her once again. She blushed a deep red remembering what they had done that evening. Her change in skin tone was not because she was in any way ashamed of it — not anymore. It was because the very thought of laying with him as they were now, filled her belly with the ever more familiar feeling of desire. Sexual desire.

Sandor Clegane was a bull, muscled and full of energy. Their coupling had been vigorous and long, mostly at her urging. For once they had started she couldn’t get enough of it. Neither could he.

At first she had been afraid of what he might do and how it would feel to be taken by her husband in the marriage bed. As a woman at court you heard things. Sometimes these things were enthralling, other times they were scary. But her fears had evaporated soon enough. Sandor was, much to her great surprise, an attentive lover. There would have been no way to know that by watching him at court. Sansa smirked into his chest as she considered all the other things that she could not have known from seeing him standing sentinel behind the King.

Calloused fingertips deftly rubbed her naked back and shoulders, immediately sending even more warmth throughout her body. She sighed and snuggled in closer, though any logical person would have seen it was impossible to do so.

“You’ll get used to it with time.” He said his words with a bit of smugness that was tangible in the darkness of the night.

There was nothing she could argue against, after what they had done that evening and how often they had done it, he had every right to be proud of himself. Never in a million years or in a thousand dreams could Sansa have realized that a man like Sandor Clegane could show her such tenderness and caring. That he would inspire a lust in her so deep that she would now find her woman’s place raw to the touch. She ran her hand through his thick rug of chest hair and hoped that her body would adjust to him soon. So hopeful and lost in thought on the subject as she was, she didn’t notice her hand had traveled lower, down his stomach and to his belly button.

“You’re playing with fire woman.” He warned, softly taking her wrist into his large palm and stopping it from traveling below his waist.

“I thought you said you couldn’t any more. With words like that a girl should think herself safe.” Sansa was challenging him on purpose of course, knowing he was naturally competitive.

A growl emanated through his chest to the point that she could feel it in hers as well. “What I said was,” he paused for emphasis, “I couldn’t in that moment.”

Sandor took the opportunity to roll on top of her, his weight giving her a sense of calm and security. He nipped at her jawline and pulled one of her arms around his neck. “But we’re no longer in that moment are we?”

Now he was taunting her, calling her bluff. To think that hours before she would have been too afraid of him to even speak seemed silly now. To think that she had considered taking her own life even more so. Allowing him access to her neck and spreading her legs apart so as to feel the hardened caress of his ample manhood better, Sansa took a moment to run her fingers over the muscles of his shoulders and back. Their tips took in every peak and every valley.

Casually she reached out to the bedside table, dipping her hand into the small and still opened jar that stood there. In all honesty she did not know what the jar contained, only that the cream helped her take his size more easily. Without a word she reached between them and slathered it along his length, gripping him as firmly as her little hand could. He exhaled roughly in response. She knew he liked it. Sansa was proud of herself for learning what he liked so quickly, for pleasing him as she had that night. Ever since she had come to King’s Landing she had dreamed of being treated like a woman, but had been kept a girl. A thing to be stored and then looked at when the time was right. This behavior had taken any power she could have had away from her, it had stifled her confidence even moreso.

Being with Sandor had changed that, had slowly began to instill a confidence in her that she had not known was there. The King’s loyal servant treated her like a woman, desirable and worthy of love. Against all odds, and what she knew of him, he was kind. His beard tickled her chest eliciting a small giggle from her mouth. Sandor made her feel girlish again, turned back time to a moment where she had been happy. Pulling back his foreskin and swirling her fingers around the head of his cock a bit gave the desired effect.

His voice was throaty, “Seems I have a nymph in this bed instead of a lady.”

She moaned lightly in agreement.

Sandor’s lips came over her breasts as he spoke, “You won’t be able to sit right in court tomorrow. You know that don’t you?”

“Mayhaps.” She whispered, arching her back toward his lips. “But I’ll have a smile on my face thinking about why that is.”

He chuckled at her words and it suited him. In all the time she had known the Hound, Sansa could not recall him ever smiling or laughing, if it wasn’t out of spite or anger. But this night had been different. She had seen many sides of Sandor that she was sure nobody was accustomed to, his true smile being the one she held most dear. She was such a good girl after all, a dutiful one. For Sansa had only done what his Grace the King had wished of her.


	2. Her Damned Provocations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is unexpectedly chosen by Sansa, leaving him enraged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this one. One plot building chapter before we return to our much loved sexy times!

##  **Sandor**

 

**Earlier that day...**

 

The boy king was at it again, he had a bee in his panties and everyone would suffer because of it. Sandor knew this without having to look at Joffrey's face, his gesticulations were enough to point to his anger. Though the Hound was doing a best to stifle a laugh by staring at one particularly uneven part of the floor in the throne room. This tantrum was truly one of the King’s most noteworthy. Newly engaged to Margaery Tyrell, it seemed the little shit felt the need to ensure that all of the ladies of marriageable age in his court should choose a husband. Whether it was to stop the King’s lingering eye or to cover up any possible misdeeds he had or would do, Sandor couldn’t be sure. 

 

He also didn’t really care.

 

His Grace had thrown the entire court upside down, the faces of those highborns were priceless -- something to be preserved on canvas. Many of them, both men and women, had been promised to others. This would significantly upset the already tedious alliances of Westeros. Not just homes but agreements between families that were a generation in the making. Sandor felt particularly safe, though he chuckled under his breath as Lollys Stokeworth chose Bronn as her man. True, the sellsword had been working on her but he had never really thought she would actually follow through on his courtship. They were married on the spot of course, the Septon just as shocked and fearful of Joffrey’s eire as anybody else. 

 

As for himself, Sandor felt fairly confident he wouldn’t get whisked up in the whole mess. There were fewer women at court than men for one. Second, he had no lands or real wealth to his name. Clegane Keep was a shithole and not even worth the land it stood on. Furthermore, he was the ugliest son of a bitch in King’s Landing and just as mean -- clearly his work to alienate himself from the rich, highborns would reap its benefits today. 

 

Standing tall and as still as possible Sandor fought to suppress his own barking laugh as Miranda Ognerson, who could have rivaled him for ugliest person in King’s Landing, chose Meryn Trant as her husband. The Hound didn’t know what was funnier, Trant marrying the most repulsive looking woman at court, or Miranda marrying a man whose cock didn’t jut out from beyond his pubic hair. 

 

_ ‘Oh this is a day.’ _ Sandor mused, doing his very best not to draw any attention to himself. His eyes still trained on the floor.

 

There were only a few more of his male counterparts left, none of them wonderful choices.  _ ‘The Imp perhaps?’  _

 

He was known for his drinking and womanizing, but had money and some sort of influence in court. The little man was the best of the bottom of the barrel, which was composed of himself, Gregor and Ser Ilyn Payne. 

 

_ ‘All I have to do is wait out a few more.’ _ Sandor had lost count of course, but there couldn’t be many women left. One or two at the very most. 

 

“Dog, did you hear me?” The screeching voice Sandor knew far too well came out of the nothing. Sandor’s eyes lifted and he did his best to turn his head as calmly as possible. 

 

_ ‘The little prick probably wants me to kill somebody.’  _ Sandor didn’t move, he merely waited for the King to continue.

 

“Well don’t just stand there like a moron! Dog come kneel before the Septon.” The boy had  a grin on his face that could only mean one thing, that he had achieved something no one else knew about.

 

All the blood must have drained out Sandor’s face in this moment, for he certainly felt as white as a sheet. The words of the King rang through his ears. Taking a quick moment to breath before he turned his gaze to the side of the throne room, Sandor readied himself fearful of what or who he would see. 

 

Sansa stood there to the left of the throne, appearing flushed and scared as she always did. The girl was looking at him, but also then nervously down at the floor. Fury filled Sandor immediately as he finally understood what she had done. 

 

_ ‘How dare she!’  _ He raged. Sansa had always been a thorn in his side, she had always been there -- provoking him. From the time he had first laid eyes on her in Winterfell he had despised her. Despised her for her beauty, for her easy laugh, for her desire to be perfect. She was everything he wasn’t, everything he loathed. It didn’t help that she had grown into her womanly curves over the years, that she had been on the arm of the King and had swooned over the little cunt. It had been torture of the worst kind for Sandor, to covet one so different from yourself and to know you could never have her. 

 

_ ‘And now? _ ’ He asked himself as he narrowed his eyes and moved toward the girl. His anger was palpable for some of the women in court let out gasps of concern. There were times when Sandor used his size and his appearance to instill fear in those who were too weak to fight back. Most in the court shrank away, but not Sansa. The little bird with her plucked wings stood as still as she possibly could, waiting for him to come to her. Glaring, Sandor took a knee in front of the Septon and could see out of the corner of his eye that Sansa had followed suit. 

 

All the while the old codger of a religious man talked, Sandor seethed. He hated to be in front of people like this, couldn't stand that the undeniably most beautiful woman at court had chosen him. HIM!

 

_ ‘She plans to torment me even more!’ _ Sandor argued with himself, feeling a tightness in his chest at the thought of having to see her every day, of being rejected by her every day, of having her flaunt lovers that looked like plump faced boys in front of him.

 

“Aye.” He choked out at the right time, keeping his eyes trained ahead.

 

“I do.” He heard Sansa’s dutiful little chirp from his left. 

 

When it ended Sandor never looked over at her, he merely got up and took his place behind the King -- staring again at his favorite spot on the floor. He heard Sansa leave though, heard the door she would use to go to her chambers squeak at its hinges. The little brat King’s audience for the day would be over soon, his rampage would soon end. That was what Sandor now dreaded, the part that would come next.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d been given the rest of the day off to, “See to his husbandly duties,” by the King. Sandor had grumbled a, “Thank you, your Grace,” and rushed out the of the throne room. In truth, Sandor had no desire to go to his wife, or whatever the fuck he should call her. It would just be more embarrassment, more reason to loath himself for no reason in particular. 

 

That little voice in Sandor’s head spoke up unbid, ‘ _ You can’t hide from her forever.’ _

 

Sandor knew that, but he kind of wanted to.  _ ‘What was her purpose in choosing me anyway? To keep me in a state of constant jealousy? To flaunt young cumly lovers in front of me as if I don’t even exist? To look upon me with disgust?’  _ His rage flared up again, angry that he could allow himself to fall for her so easily, to be so open against her onslaught. Sandor lived his whole life protecting himself from emotional pain, thus taking on more of the physical -- but this would be more than even he could bare.

 

Rounding the corner of the hall Sandor felt his chest tighten as her door came into view. It was their room now, for he doubted the Lady Stark would prefer his meager soldier's chambers. Not caring what state she might be in or what she might be doing, Sandor opened the door without knocking. Startled, Sansa stood up from her table where she had been drinking a glass of wine. 

 

_ ‘Need to be drunk to even look upon me? _ ’ It only stoked his rage further. Moving toward her swiftly Sandor grabbed her by the biceps and pressed her roughly against the cold stone wall.

 

“What the fuck are you playing at girl?” He growled, their faces mere millimeters apart. 

 

As expected she turned her head and whimpered, it only served to disgust him more. “You want to put my head on a chopping block too? Just being near you is enough to get anyone killed.”

 

She was considered a traitor by blood in this city, and would be a way for somebody who wanted to move up to cast doubt on Sandor’s own loyalties. He had committed enough sins in this life for somebody to use her against him to get him murdered. At those words she began to sniffle, her breathing fast but also labored. “What’s the matter girl? Dog got your tongue? Speak!” 

 

He was being cruel, he knew it. But her lack of ability to protect herself angered him. It made him want to slap her across the face just to get the sense back into her.

 

After a long moment she spoke, “You are the only one that was ever kind to…” 

 

Sandor didn’t let her finish, “You think I’m kind girl?” He shook her so she would look him in the face, her cheeks now streaked with tears. If smoke could have come out of his nostrils it would have, as her statement was utterly ridiculous.

 

Ripping herself out of his grasp Sansa made some distance between them, then gathered up what little courage she could muster. “You were the lesser of all the evils.” She spat back at him, “What choice did I have?” There was a vitriol in her voice that Sandor was unaccustomed to, a sort of anger and frustration that she rarely, perhaps never, expressed.

 

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room after her outburst, but it was long enough for Sandor to take a moment to consider the the thoughts her words provoked.


	3. Undesirable Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa contemplates evil deeds, while Sandor has something else in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the brain needs the easier stories just to have a little fun. Currently sitting in a rather anonymous bar on a work trip -- but taking the time to write ;-) If we graduate 120 ortho surgeons on Saturday I'll be over the moon. For now it's time to create some stories.
> 
> I put a warning out there for trigger with regard to suicide. Though I don't think I go very darkly into the whole idea -- I wouldn't want to upset anybody. So please read with caution.
> 
> Now back to our slow but very certain descent into naked sexy times

##  Sansa

 

An eerie silence had fallen in the room after she had stood up to the Hound, and Sansa wasn’t sure what to do next. They were staring at one another, breathing hard and just waiting for the other to make a move. Ever since she had arrived at King’s Landing her life had been a disaster, everything she loved or had held dear had been taken from her. The Lannisters had stripped her of her value, leaving no place for even common human decency. Now, to have the King order a marriage of the most abominable kind, had just been icing on the cake. 

 

It had been no surprise to her that Joffrey had made her go last. Leaving only the most unsavory men at court for her to choose from. Sansa knew that vindictive smile on his face and had known right then and there that he had planned this whole thing from the beginning. It was to get back at her for her brother’s fight against the crown. She hated him, and she felt ashamed that she had ever even considered loving him.

 

Thinking back to this morning’s audience with the King, she was again taken aback by the helplessness of the moment. Looking about the room Sansa’s heart had sunk deeper in her chest. Just the very thought of giving her maiden’s gift to any of the men who had been left standing after the other ladies at court had made their choices had disgusted her. Bile had risen in her throat as she saw all of the acceptable matches chosen, and at the realization that she would have to choose between a dwarf from the family she hated, the age and silence of the King’s Justice, a rapist and a murder in Gregor Clegane, or his brother the Hound. 

 

While Tyrion may have been the most suitable choice given his rank and station, there was no certainty he could keep her safe. Sansa was not unaware that Stannis amassed an army and would do his best to reclaim the throne for his branch of the Baratheons. Having considered this a long while, Sansa had decided it would be better not to align herself even more with the Lannisters. Ser Ilyn Payne had swung the sword that killed her father. No matter whether he was ordered to or would have done it of his own free will, Sansa could not in good conscious marry the man who had done this to her family. Gregor Clegane also did not come into question, for she knew of his earlier wives, now all dead. It was no coincidence that they did not survive and the rumors that permeated court told of violent sexual urges and of a temper unmatched even by the Warrior himself.  That left her with the Hound, Sandor Clegane. He was not without his sins and his issues. He was as ugly as he was cruel -- but he had saved her. As the tension in the throne room rose and she needed to pick her husband, Sansa was reminded of the fact that while he may have said many a cruel thing to her since her arrival in King’s Landing, he had never physically harmed her. The opposite actually. So she had chosen him, called out his name as strong and true as she could, doing her best to sound as if she had been weighing this choice for a very long time.

 

She wasn’t sure if he had heard her say his name,  but she was certain he had been angry that she had. That much had been obvious to Sansa and the rest of court as he had taken his place next to her in front of the Septon. The Hound had not even looked at her, merely did his duty but not without showing his displeasure in both posture and movement. Now, it seemed as though he had only gotten more angry, threatening to take it out on her in her tiny room. But she stood by what she said, _ ‘What was I supposed to do?’  _

 

Her words had taken him aback, as the mountain of a man stood there considering something she could not know. His face was impassive, his silence meditative. Sansa fought back hot tears, she didn’t dare show any further weakness in front of the Hound, not now. Then, as if something had been decided on, he merely turned and walked out of the room -- locking the door behind him. At first she was dumbstruck, then she slowly became furious with him. Turning quickly to the table Sansa threw her wine goblet at the door, watching it bounce across the floor. Only then, much like the wine that was now all over the door and floor, did Sansa allow her tears to flow. She screamed out various names and any angry word she could think of until she was red in the face. She no longer cared if the whole court could hear her from her rooms, situated toward the common gardens.

 

_ ‘So this is what my life is going to be like? Hated, locked away?’ _ She loathed herself even more now, despised everything that had come with the King and his ridiculous procomations. 

 

Everything came crashing down around her. All the emotions Sansa had been holding in for the year since her father’s death, since she had realized she was locked inside of a horror story came pouring out of her. Her body shook, her eyes burned from the tears they were making, her strength left her. Sansa dropped into her chair near the table she had been sitting at and wept harder than she could ever remember. 

 

_ ‘I’m alone, married to a man who hates me...I have nothing. I am nothing…’ _ Laying her head upon her arms she cried face down on the table, until her eyes closed and her body relaxed around her.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa did not know how much time had passed when she did stirr from her sleep. Only that it was dark outside and her lady in waiting had started the fire in the fireplace and lit the lamps in the room. Sandor had been gone for hours now, that much was clear and there was no indication of if or when he would return.

 

_ ‘He’s probably off drinking or whoring. I won’t allow myself such a disgrace. I can’t …’  _ Turning to her vanity Sansa was startled by her own appearance -- she looked a fright. Her hair was half up and half down, disheveled at best. Her eyes were swollen and red from her crying, a line on her forehead indicated where she had rested it on her arm. 

 

_ ‘I have nothing left to live for. Nothing at all.’ _ She was then filled with a thought, an undesirable one at best, but a way out nonetheless. Ending her life would be what Joffrey wanted, but it would also serve as her release. She didn’t care anymore who won or who lost, she didn’t know if her brother would even make it far enough down south to rescue her. She just wanted to be free of this misery, of the pain. She decided it was time to rescue herself.

 

_ ‘Better to die pure. Better to do it before the Hound...before he…’  _ Sansa couldn't even think the last part of the sentence much less say it out loud. The thought of him doing the things her Septa had told her with her body, just seemed wrong.

 

Feeling an odd sense of peace with her choice, Sansa went to her vanity and began to take all the pins out of her hair. Then taking her mother’s comb she brushed it until it was straight and shone in the deep orange and yellow light of the fire. 

 

_ ‘I will not take my own life without some kind of final dignity.’ _ She decided.

 

Sansa then took a small cloth and dipped it in her water basin, cleaning off her face and neck. She looked at herself in the mirror and laughed a bitter laugh. All her life everybody had told her how prettyl she was. That she was the maiden in the flesh, the most beautiful young woman any man had ever seen. And she didn’t care. Beauty had brought her nothing, only pain and suffering. She would have gladly given every ounce of beauty she had for just one moment of happiness, for even just a small and simple act of kindness. 

 

Staring at her reflection a while longer she finally nodded to herself, as if to give herself the permission to continue with her plan. Padding over to her wardrobe Sansa took a beautiful blue silk robe from it and admired the garment in the light. ‘ _ This will do.’ _ She smiled.

 

Removing all of her clothing, even her small clothes, Sansa wrapped her body in the silken robe and tied it at the waist with a darker blue silk sash. It hung in beautiful folds around her legs and moved like the waves of the sea when she walked. The robe had a V neckline with soft ruffled short sleeves. She admired herself with grim satisfaction in the mirror, it was a beautiful thing to die in -- fitting for a lady. 

 

Moving back to her vanity and opening a small drawer to her right, Sansa removed a dagger she had hidden there. At the time she had taken it she had not thought she would take her own life, she had just felt safer with it there. Now, she felt the satisfaction of using it as a way out of this cage she had been locked in.

 

Her back was to the door  and she eyed the dagger apprehensively in the lamp light of her room. She would slit her wrists, that would be the easiest and the fastest. The dagger was sharp, if she was quick about it she would not even feel it while she cut them both. Then she could watch and feel the life drain out of her body. Gently she traced a line with the dagger over her left wrist, rehearsing the right movement she would need to take -- as to make sure to do it right the first time.

 

So enveloped in her own thoughts as she was, she did not hear the heavy footsteps approaching her room -- but she did hear the door swing open. Nearly jumping out of her skin, Sansa stood up at her vanity and turned around to face whoever was coming through the door, her dagger still in hand. The first thing she realized when Sandor came into her view, was how big he was even without his armor. Men usually wore armor so they appeared larger and more intimidating in tourney or battle, but the Hound didn’t need it. He was even more impressive in his fresh white tunic, soft leather pants and boots than he was in his uniform. She was sure her mouth was gaping open, at least he was looking at her as if that were the case. But he said nothing, his grey eyes staring a hole through her. The next thing she noticed was that he smelled like her favorite verbena soap, sold in a small shop in King’s Landing. There they also offered bathing and other such grooming services. He smelled of that, and a spicy scent she knew well from the store. A cologne she often snuck a whiff of when she was there. 

 

_ ‘He was getting cleaned up.’  _ She realized shamefully, seeing how his hair had been trimmed along with his beard. Sansa placed the dagger back on the vanity as stealthily as she could, though it wasn’t so much as he had her clearly in his vision.

 

So shocked by his clean and relaxed appearance she didn’t notice he was carrying something in his hands until he tossed the small box her way, mumbling something akin to, “your eyes,” and making his way to the table. Sansa caught the small box and looked at him questioningly. As usual Sandor Clegane’s face was impassive, never showing his true feelings.

 

Opening the small gift her eyes lit up. It was a ring, a beautiful sapphire and diamond ring. Simple of course, but it had a feminine style and he was right -- it suited her. Sansa was at a loss for what to do or even say -- certainly she wanted to save them both from her tears again. It had been so long since somebody had gifted her something, and never in her life had she been given such a beautiful piece of jewelry. 

 

“It’s gorgeous.” She breathed, still in utter shock as to the whole thing. It was almost like it wasn’t real, as if she had actually taken her life and this was some of the last of her daydreams floating through her dying mind. But no, taking the ring from the box Sansa put it on her finger and marveled at it in the light. 

 

“I don’t know what to say, how can I ever…” She had began but he waved her off gently and crossed his legs in her high backed chair. 

 

His demeanor had changed completely, gone was the angry, foul beast that had rampaged through her rooms hours before. But what had come in his place she could not be sure. For the moment Sansa was merely relieved that he was normal, relaxed happy even. Thinking back she couldn’t ever say that she had seen him like this. 

 

Taking another long drink of wine the Hound eyed her a moment, then he spoke. “So what have you been told about the marriage bed?” He asked rather nonchalantly. 

 

Sansa’s cheeks immediately filled with color at the very thought of having to explain such things to him.  _ ‘Is he doing this just to embarrass me?’ _ She wondered, knowing he had a way of being cruel. 

 

Clearly the incredulous and rather scandalized look she gave him tipped him off to her thoughts, for he smiled broadly and laughed. But it was not a cruel laugh, it was more a hearty laugh as if he were amused by something she had done.

 

“Come now,” he urged, “I need to know what you’ve been told so I fulfill my lady’s expectations.” Sandor crossed his arms then, both a confronting and playful tone to his words. 

 

Ladies were, of course, not to discuss such things with men at all. Though, seeing as he was her husband, she supposed she could speak with him about it. That didn’t mean she wasn’t terribly embarrassed.

 

“Well…” She started, “In the marriage bed and man and a woman are supposed to lay together.” Sansa was buying time, tying to string it out as long as possible to make sure she didn’t say something completely stupid or embarrassing. She could literally feel the color rising in her cheeks. “And the man is supposed to put his, uh, manhood into her woman’s place -- sheath it.” She added quickly.

 

He made a motion with his hand for her to go on, which was promising so she continued to say what she knew -- the color of her face slowly stabilizing. Sansa continued, “It’s supposed to hurt when my maiden’s gift is taken, but I am to lie there and allow you..” Sansa paused a moment, realizing she had mentioned the Hound taking her virginity in conversation and blushed horribly at the realization. She looked over to see if he was still listening to her. He was, a grin spreading across his face.

 

“I am to lie there and to allow my husband to take his pleasure as often as he likes.” Happy to be done with this Sansa remained silent, looking over at him expectantly.

 

Sandor smiled at her words, it was in some ways the most horrific smile one could see given his face. Yet at the same time, it was a happy one -- the kind of smile she had not had in a very very long time. In some ways it was, dare she say, nice.

 

“Let me guess. Those were the exact words of your Septa?” He asked, not having changed from his relaxed position in her chair.

 

“Yes.” She answered surprised, “But how could you have…” She began.

 

“Because it sounds like the words of a woman who knows she’s never going to touch a man in her life, nor ever has. It sounds like a cold bitter old woman with no joys in life. Not like you.” Sansa smiled at Sandor’s words, lightly chuckling to herself as she did so. She had often wondered how a woman sworn to chastity could tell her anything about the marriage bed and found it amusing that he felt the same. 

 

“Come here girl.” He said, sitting up and patting his left thigh. 

 

It was the gravely deep tone of his voice that made her feet move of their own volition -- that and a little bit of her own curiosity. He was her husband after all, and he seemed to have calmed down from whatever had angered him earlier in the day. So it was her duty to submit to him.

 

Sitting on his knee and putting her hands in her lap, Sansa looked at Sandor expectantly waiting for him to speak. She could not read his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in them that she had not seen before. His left hand came around her lower back to her thigh, pulling her closer to him, his right hand traced a slow line down her neck toward the rather open V neck of her robe. It made her skin prickle with excitement, small goosebumps forming where his finger had been.

 

“Now I can’t do shit about the pain you might feel when I take your maidenhead. If you had wanted to spare yourself that, you should have picked Trant.” There was a smug look on his face that Sansa didn’t understand, so she just looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. 

 

Smirking to himself a bit more, Sandor moved his hand from hovering over her chest to her leg. It was warm, as if it were made of fire. The whole area of her leg was no longer cold in the autumn evening air. It was amazing how much heat he could radiate with just a single touch. 

 

He continued after some time, “But you aren't going to just lay there while I take my pleasure.”

 

Sansa’s eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. Her whole plan was now thrown into disarray, ‘ _ Gods what on earth am I going to do then?’  _ She asked herself as a now familiar grin passed Sandor’s lips. 

 

“Just . . .” He started, not sure what to say it seemed, “Just express yourself.” He said testing to see if she was following. 

 

Seeing that she didn’t get it he tried again. “There are no bloody lords or ladies when having sex.” She blushed when he said the word.  “The King is no different from any other beggar or workman on the street. Sex...it’s just two people taking their pleasure. So none of this little lady proper shit, ok?”

 

Blinking a few times so as to process his words, Sansa was mortified. All she had ever been told was that she was to lay there and close her eyes if necessary -- that the man would do the rest. Now she was supposed to do something? She had no idea what to even to expect perhaps to kiss him or give him more access to her…her…

 

“You want me to make sounds like a common tavern whore?” She asked somewhat surprised, not knowing what else to say. To lay there and be silent was clearly the  role of a lady -- what he was describing was something completely different.

 

The Hound merely threw her a knowing grin. One she couldn’t quite fathom the meaning.

 

Before she could even think about all the things she didn’t know, and how horrible she was going to be in the marriage bed she felt a warm kiss on her neck, followed by the slight tickle of a freshly trimmed beard. From what little she knew of Sandor Clegane, Sansa could clearly see he was not a man who cared to talk -- but rather to do. That was the distinct impression she got now as his lips lazily kissed her neck and shoulder, his hands warming her body with their touch. Sansa couldn’t help but lean into him slightly, not sure where the night would take her.

 


	4. The One-Eyed Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor leads the way in the marriage bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally curious to see how everybody likes this first sexy chapter. Somehow I find it quite erotic on a couple of levels. ;-)
> 
> Hope you enjoy :-) Oh and I might have to extend the number of chapters ...perhaps there are 7 instead of 5. Can I get a "whoot whoot" for more smut? :-) Kiss kiss!!!!
> 
> Update 01.08.2019: At the beginning of the fic I have added a beautiful fan collage by the fantastic Lady Guinevere, who did the beta work for the Russian translation of this work. It is quite an undertaking to write a fanfiction, it is yet another to translate and check a work. Hugs to @Mary_Kasey_07 for the great translation.
> 
> See the original collage here: https://vk.com/photo-183841543_457239143  
> See "As His Grace Desires" in Russian here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/7666660 or   
> here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985959/chapters/47316487

  
**A special thanks to Lady Guinevere for this great collage and finding the PERFECT Sandor bum**

 

## Sandor

 

She had said only a few words, but it had been the way she said them -- tears streaming down her face -- that had caught his attention early on. Sandor had entered her room ready for a fight and had left it pensive and fearful. He had locked Sansa in, with instructions for the maid to go in only to light the lamps if necessary. If she went running off, it would do him no favors. Besides, Sandor had needed time and somewhere to think.

 

The girl had called him kind and he had not expected it, though he knew his actions over the years could have been seen as such. Giving her his handkerchief after her beatings, saving her instead of the bloody King during the bread riots -- all of those things were the few expressions of his feelings he had allowed himself over the years.

 

_‘But if she could see it, who else could have noticed?’_ It had taken him sometime thereafter to convince himself that most of these actions had only been between the two of them -- his reputation and, more importantly his head, should be secure. With that the anger he had toward her in the throne room disappeared.

 

So he had left, first to straighten his head. Once that had been completed, he did what any other man did on his wedding day -- he had gone to get himself cleaned up. To say he hadn’t noticed that Sansa had liked this tiny boutique in the city for its soaps and essences, would have been a lie. He’d spent nearly the last two years in her constant company, only an idiot wouldn’t have been able to see her eyes light up  when she smelled the soap he had now chosen, or the men’s perfume she would steal a whiff of when she thought nobody was looking.

 

When she was the King’s, Sandor had hated her girlish ways, found her need for attention horrible. But as she grew out of favor, and saw the King for what he really was, Sandor could see she had changed -- and not for the better. Gone was the smiley, pretty girl that had come to King’s Landing, fresh faced and wide eyed. In her place was a quite more meek young woman. All of her happiness had been drained from her by those leeches known as the Lannisters. What had probably hit Sandor the hardest after he left her company that night, was the realization that the things he despised most about her, had actually been what he loved about the girl. Sansa had the heart of the wolf in her, you’d have been blind or stupid not to see it, but like all creatures it needed to be nurtured.

 

Sandor pondered this as the bath boy scrubbed him pink in the scalding water. Once that was done, the boy’s father trimmed Sandor’s beard and razored his neck. The bath water had turned tepid by the time Sandor had gotten out, somehow lost in his thoughts about all that had happened that day and what would happen this evening. Waiting for him on the counter was the oil he had chosen - or rather the oil she would have chosen. He couldn’t say she had bad taste in scents -- not that Sandor was given to those kinds of things -- but the one she liked pleased him. It was earthy, with hints of resin and spiced wood. It was an older man’s cologne, though the Little Bird probably didn’t know that.

 

_‘A sign perhaps?’_ He had teased himself before setting off in the city to buy her a trinket. _‘That’s what you do when you take a wife right? Buy her a trinket?’_

 

The ring had chosen him if truth be told. It was a simple setting with a sapphire the color of her eyes in the middle, and some small diamonds around it. Hefty on a soldier's salary but he did have a name and some money to go with that name. So Sandor dug deep into his pockets and bought the silly thing. It suited her youth and beauty, and it sparkled like her eyes once did as she arrived in the capitol.

 

_‘Perhaps they’ll sparkle again.’_ Sandor wasn’t a man given to hope or lofty goals, but he did want her to be happy with his gift -- feeling the nerves in his belly creep up as he entered the halls of the Red Keep once again. Night had fallen, his bath and trim taking longer than he had expected -- though the quality had been good.

 

Gripping her gift in his hand he considered knocking, but decided against it. He was calmer now, so perhaps she wouldn’t be frightened this time when he entered the room. _‘She’ll have to get used to it anyway. We’re married in the eyes of the Seven now.’_

 

Opening the door his eye was immediately drawn to the dagger in her hand. Having spent most of his life either preparing for or being in combat, it was what honed in on naturally. She had gotten up with a gasp, turning toward him from her dresser as if she were a child caught with something she was not allowed to play with. It was clear to Sandor she wasn’t thinking of protecting herself with the thing, but instead doing something darker. There was no reason to panic for he had come just at the right time. Sandor could feel the pain in her eyes as she tried to look as though nothing was the matter. He had caught her in her darkest, most intimate moment -- she couldn’t go back from that, not with him.

 

They gazed at each other a long while as Sandor assessed the situation. It was all Joffrey’s fault, he was responsible for making her feel this way. The boy was cruel and had tortured the beautiful creature before him to the point of her wanting to take her own life. Because she felt it had no value, because he had stomped her into the ground. She was brave to consider this act.. That was the next thought to pop into his mind. For to commit suicide meant making a decision and then acting on it. In his case, he would only need to allow himself to slip up in battle -- to give an opportunistic enemy an in if he had wanted to end it all. Having played with the thought more than once, Sandor could not judge her. His life had meant nothing to him for quite some time now, thanks in part to the Lannisters.

 

So Sandor chose not to pay the dagger too much heed, instead choosing to eye her with unguarded interest as he shut the door behind him. _‘Gods she doesn’t know how beautiful she is.’_ He thought to himself as his eyes drank her in properly for the first time.

 

If Sansa had truly known how beautiful she was she would have weaponized. She would have tied any man in court around her little finger with a smile, a wink or the promise of something more. But she hadn’t and it wasn’t because she was stupid -- she just didn’t bloody know. Sandor marveled at that a moment, wondering what would happen if she ever found out. Or if she even cared.

 

She was still surprised he had returned, or so he reckoned by the way she was looking at him. So Sandor popped the little box he had bought over to her, then made his way to one of her chairs seated near the table. While she opened the trinket Sandor casually slipped a little jar of lubricant on the bedside table. He’d never had a virgin before, but he knew himself to be large even when faced with experienced women. Smirking to himself about this evening’s main event, Sandor turned his attentions back to Sansa.

 

Her smile was all he really needed to see, that was enough confirmation that he had chosen wisely. She was taken with the gift, her eyes a glow her lips pulled into a grin he hadn’t seen since he had been in Winterfell. When Sansa had finally gotten over the trinket, Sandor popped the question that had been burning in his mind since they had said their vows to the Septon.

 

“So what have you been told about the marriage bed?” He asked, as casually as possible.

 

Her expression had said it all, and her explanation had been amusing. Sansa’s understanding of the marriage bed had been clinical at best, which meant she knew nothing at all. Sandor should have been relieved at this, he should have been put at ease, _‘But what the fuck do I know about the marriage bed?’_

 

The question floated in his mind as he thought about all of his sexual experiences until this point. They had all been whores and farm girls, and never the same one twice. So where did that leave him?

 

_‘I’m the one-eyed man leading the blind.’_ He laughed to himself.

 

If Sandor had to be really honest with himself, he didn’t know what monogamous sex was or what it meant to come home to the same woman every night. He had no fucking clue and yet here he was, with her expectant little eyes looking at him to guide her. Her pert little bum on his lap with her hands neatly folded in her lap. So he suppressed a chuckle when she suggested that he wanted her to moan like a whore and decided instead to just make her do so. To prove his point about mutual pleasure.

 

The moment his lips met her skin, he knew he had been captured. Just this little tiny bit of contact had made him melt. He fucking hated her for tasting good, for smelling good -- for making him feel things he could not put a name to. She was softer than silk. She was everything he had dreamed of and more.

 

Sandor left a trail of kisses down her neck and clavicle, gripping her thigh and pulling her closer to him-- and to his great surprise she didn’t struggle, she gave in. Smiling into her skin, Sandor’s hand made its way up her leg toward her hip. When it became clear she wore nothing under her silk robe, an extra pang of blood shot between his legs. If he could have his way, he’d have her straddle him in the chair and he’d fuck her raw. _‘No.’_ He said to himself. ‘ _She’s already not had the wedding she hoped for.’_

 

With that said, he was overcome with the urge to see her naked and found the words stumbling out of his mouth before he could help himself. “Take off your clothes.” He breathed into her ear.

 

At this she stiffened and Sandor realized how odd his request was. He was asking her to do something she had never done before, something she had been told never to do -- particularly in front of a man. Surely she didn’t know what it would do to him to watch her undress, to see her slip the silk over her curves. Not wanting to scare her, and of course wanting to keep the momentum going, Sandor moved her from his knee and stood from her high backed chair. Seating her where he was, next he turned in front of her, hoping that showing her what he wanted would help her to understand its significance.

 

Standing just a foot or two in front of her, Sandor was struck by the fact that it felt odd to undress for another. He thought back to all the times he had made women do it, finding a bit more understanding for their apprehension. Being there in front of Sansa, Sandor didn’t even know what part of a man’s body women liked, or how he would best show it to her. Men were simple creatures, anything with  titts and ass would be enough to fan the flames of desire. Women on the other hand, were more complicated than men in this regard. Sandor knew it and it made him a bit unsure as to where to start.

 

Her head tipped curiously while he stood there, deciding on how best to seduce her with his nudity. _‘Fuck._ ’ He cursed at himself in frustration as he kicked off his boots, then slowly brought his hands to the bottom of his tunic.

 

Pulling the garment over his head, Sandor made a point to flex his muscles. If there was ever a compliment he got from a woman, it was about how big his muscles were and how strong he was. As the little bird had rightfully implied, she was not a common tavern whore, which meant he really really hoped she  liked the same things about him that they did. Sandor nearly breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes immediately moved to his chest and abs. They were sculpted from hours spent in the training yard daily, covered in curly brown hair. His upper body was certainly not that of a boy, and clearly not that of the King. The Hound watched her mouth open slowly as he, admittedly, sucked in a bit to make his muscles even more defined - the V that lead teasingly below his trousers becoming even more pronounced.  She wasn’t repulsed, of that he was certain -- if anything she was intrigued.

 

Turning to the side, Sandor took to slowly unlacing his trousers. Occasionally he would look over to see if she was watching. Her interest was becoming more and more clear, her eyes fixated on his hands while they fumbled with the laces. It struck him only then that he wasn’t sure what color of underclothes he had on -- not that it would matter much in the darkness. He hoped they were black, he looked much better in black. Smirking to himself, Sandor pushed his trousers over his hips and made sure to do it as elegantly as he could. Her eyes were still on him of course, her knuckles growing whiter as they gripped the arm rests of her high backed chair. There was a little look on her face that Sandor had never seen before, and if he wasn’t mistaken it could have been thinly veiled lust.

 

_‘You’ve got her on the hook Dog.’_ Sandor encouraged himself.

 

For the last bit he decided to tease her slightly, turning his massive back to her and giving his ass a little wiggle. She cleared her throat slightly when he did so. Then, without further warning, he dropped his underclothes, hearing a small gasp come from her lips. Shaking his head a bit in amusement Sandor stood there a moment so she could observe his sculpted bum. Sandor had not a bit of fat on him and he knew that there was no better specimen of a male ass around than his own. This knowledge didn’t dampen his nerves through. Turning all the way around to face her, Sandor knew his cock was only half hard.

 

_‘Better this way, don’t wanna scare her.’_ Having never seen a naked man, Sandor didn’t know exactly what Sansa expected of a man’s cock. Though surely her Septa had not warned her for what she would find with him.  For as much as the tavern whores loathed his appearance, the trunk between his legs more than made up for it. Slowly Sandor raised his eyes to meet hers and he could see she was flushed. She was pretty when she was flushed, her cheeks and chest a light crimson her eyes open wide as if it would help her take in more. He stood there and let her take a long hard look at him, steadying himself for what he would do next.

 

Approaching her slowly, as if she were a wild animal he wanted to befriend, Sandor made his way to where she was sitting. The chair was perfect, for its seat was a bit lower than most, putting her a the optimal height for what he had in mind. Over the years he had thought of doing  many naughty things with her -- in all positions and orifices. But having her suck him had always gotten him off --and he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity now. Once he was close enough, his knees nearly touching the chair, Sandor gently took her chin in his hand. Their eyes locked and he savored the moment, his thumb lazily tracing a line on her lips.

 

“You wanna make me your slave girl? Then you had better learn how to use that pretty mouth of yours.” He breathed it out, which had the effect of making it sound more like a plea than an order.

 

Taking the base of his cock in hand, he pulled back the foreskin and moved its head close to her soft pink lips. Sansa flinched reflexively and he grunted at the sight, trying hard not to crack a grin. Using his other hand, Sandor moved some stray hairs from her face and threaded his fingers into her red locks -- keeping her head in place.

 

“Come now.” He urged her, bringing his cock to her lips. “Take it in your mouth.”

 

She wasn’t so sure about it, the look she had on her face was a testament to that. But Sansa was a good girl, and he knew she wanted to please him as his wife. So she opened her mouth tentatively and he brought the tip of his half engorged manhood inside.

 

Once her lips closed around it, he knew he was a goner. “That’s right.” He gasped, “Use your tongue.”

 

Half hard became very hard very fast as she moved her tongue around his most sensitive spots. Moving the thick, warm muscle around the edges of his head and down the front again. There was no way he could be silent, gripping the high back of the chair Sandor moaned loudly as her inexperienced lips moved about his manhood. It took all of his wits to not thrust his hips forward and shove himself down her throat, that would have to wait for another time. For now, it was more important that she like to do it. And by the feel of it, she was gaining a little confidence. Sansa’s hand wrapped around his base so as to keep it steady.

 

_‘Fuck, my cock looks huge in that dainty little hand.’_ Sandor’s eyes rolled back as she began to suck him harder -- certainly aware of the effect she was having on him.

 

He let it go as long as he could, knowing she could easily finish him like this. And while he had often dreamt of spurting his seed down her gorgeous little throat, today was not the day. He would have to be patient, he would have to hold back so as not to overload her with experiences.

 

Taking her hair in hand, Sandor wrapped it around the base of his cock and took in the scene. Those bedroom blue eyes looking up at him, her cheeks filled with his girth, the feeling of her hair lightly tickling his balls. _‘Now this is something that should be captured on canvas -- this exact moment.’_

 

It was one of the more erotic moments Sandor had ever had in his life. True, he had engaged in more exotic sexual exchanges -- even with several women at the same time -- but there was something markedly different about this. It had to be, in part, because Sansa had been his dream. While he hated to admit it, he had had sexual urges for her for longer than was probably ok or appropriate. Of course he would have never acted on them, but he had been taken with her from the moment he had laid eyes on her in Winterfell and it had been tiring to cover that desire for all this time. So he had been mean to her, acted out against her to hide his feelings -- to keep her distant from his weak heart.  But now, despite all odds, she was his wife -- and she seemed surprisingly open to his sexual advances.

 

Not able to take it anymore, Sandor pulled his cock from her mouth and rested it on the side of her cheek. She was panting from her work, looking up at him for validation that he was happy with what she had done. Smiling, Sandor ran a finger down her cheek affectionately. And for the first time in a long time, her dazzling blue eyes lit up with excitement.


	5. Taming the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finally begins to understand the power of sex, through the guidance of Sandor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we earned the Explicit warning with this chapter for sure. I'm rather curious how this resonates with everybody. :-)
> 
> As always I appreciate your support and feedback!!!! Hugs!

## Sansa

 

Of course she had been apprehensive as the Hound coaxed the tip of his large manhood into her mouth. It was a deviant sexual act he was asking her to perform, of this Sansa was nearly certain -- for her Septa had never mentioned it in any conversation about the marriage bed.

 

 _‘Then again, what did she really know anyway?’_ Sansa had reminded herself as she stared down the shaft of his semi-aroused penis.

 

So she had done as she was bid, having to open her mouth wider than she had originally judged just to fit him inside. It had been strange at first, his most prized organ being both firm and soft at the same time. But as she moved her lips around it, used her tongue as he had asked her, Sansa began to realize it gave him great pleasure. The giant of a man towering over her had begun to grip the chair back behind her moaning and cursing, his brow furrowed in an expression she had never seen before.

 

Slowly she began to understand that this sort of intimacy with him was exactly as he had told her at the beginning, about making him her slave. _‘I’m bringing the most feared warrior in Westeros to his knees.”_ She realized. _‘Me!’_

 

Even without his scaring the Hound would not have been a beautiful man, but what he didn’t have in face he made up for in form. She had not known what to expect as Sandor had gotten up and began to undress himself slowly. Of course he was a big man, and a warrior in addition -- but she had not been prepared for the sight that met her eyes that evening. Her lord husband had a physicality to him that she had only ever seen depicted as statues in the North. Sansa and Jeyne Poole had once snuck into a locked room in Winterfell and found several statues with huge erections and had giggled wildly. They were probably some relics of an old northern fertility cult -- Sandor looked like that. Like something crafted to inspire lust in a woman, or to show a man the true meaning of virility.

 

Despite that little voice inside her head telling her to cover her eyes, Sansa had not. Instead she had forced herself to look at him and allowed herself to feel the strange and new feelings Sandor Clegane was inspiring in her. Though Joffrey had often made disparaging comments about the Hound’s body hair, Sansa didn’t find it off putting at all. It suited his rugged character, accentuated his hardened muscles with something soft -- or at least his body hair looked soft. Her eyes had been transfixed on his hands as he undid the laces of his trousers. They had been near the bulge that Sansa knew to be his manhood and it made her both nervous and excited all at the same time.

 

Sandor’s undershorts had been black, close to his body and rather short, hugging his legs tightly. She had gripped the arm rests of the chair more then, squeezed her thighs together as she felt a warmth in her belly at the sight of him. Suddenly aware of her nipples under the soft silk of her robe, Sansa only knew that she wanted him to touch them. Her breathing was changing, she could only gasp as he very suddenly dropped his underclothes, leaving his bare bum for her to look at.

 

 _‘Gods!’_ Was all she could think as an unfamiliar wetness came to the apex of her thighs. She didn’t know what it was or why it was happening, but there was too much going on to care.

 

 _‘He’s going to turn around._ ’ She knew he would, and when she did -- she couldn’t stop staring at _it._

 

Sansa had felt herself prepared for what she would see, given she’d seen numerous nude male statues in the Sept -- but nothing could have prepared her for what met her eyes. His penis hung between his legs thick and heavy, it looked weighty when you considered the sheer size of the organ. Her mouth was hanging open, because she just didn’t know what she was supposed to do with this. _‘My Septa definitely didn’t tell me anything about this. She said it would be the size of my hand, not...not...’_

 

Panic had begun to set in, only to be broken by the Hound’s request. Having no experience in such things, she had decided early on to follow his lead. What other choice would have been open to her? Now, as she looked up at him, glad he had given her tired mouth a reprieve from pleasuring him, she saw something in his eyes she had never seen before.

 

 _‘He’s quite fond of me._ ’ She realized then. ‘ _Perhaps_ _he has always, in some way desired me_.’ Perhaps that should have been clear to her by his erection she had helped coax from him, now at its full length and hard as steel. But it was something in his eyes that spoke of a sort of caring she had not felt in a very long while. In that moment, as they both stared at one another -- breathing hard and negotiating an uncomfortable silence something clicked.

 

 _‘I’m a woman grown now. I should show him I desire him too.’_ And for once in quite a long time, Sansa smiled because she felt in control of herself. In control of her body, of her desires. The Hound was not disparaging her, or making her feel worthless. This sexual act they had engaged in had not been done because he hated her, but rather because he liked it. He was showing her what he wanted because that was what the marriage bed was about -- he was setting her free.

 

Suddenly she stood up, Sandor taking a step back to give her some space. Her eyes held his while her fingertips nervously sought out the knot she had tied in her sash. Untying it Sansa opened her robe and let it fall in a small pool at her feet. The night’s air was cold on her skin, she felt it instantly -- but it made her feel more alive than she had in a long time -- that mixed with the rather breathless gaze of her lord husband. His eyes moved over her body in that unabashed sort of way the Hound was often given to doing things -- but she didn’t feel dirty when he did it. She felt beautiful and, more importantly, like she wanted to share this with him. Isn’t that what the marriage bed was about? Sharing intimacy.

 

Before she knew what was happening the large man dropped on his knees before her and, very much like his namesake, brought his nose to the red curls that covered her woman’s place and breathed in deeply. Then, much to her surprise, he ran his tongue unbid over her woman’s place -- the muscle pressing through the hair making warm slick lines there. She yelped at his, again very deviant actions, but it only seemed to encourage him further for he began to lick her more -- parting her legs so as to reach between them with his mouth. Seemingly not satisfied with the angle, Sandor lifted her leg so her foot was on the seat of the chair. She was open to him her legs parted and her folds exposed to the cold air.

 

“Oh fuck Sansa.” He muttered to her as if in prayer, looking into her eyes before he brought his lips to her slit again. There was something oddly empowering to see him on his knees like that, looking up at her almost as if she should be the one giving direction.

 

In her mind Sansa knew she should have fought it, she should have told him ‘no’ that he was an animal and a barbarian for lapping at her genitals as he was -- but her baser instincts had started to slowly take over. Sansa had wondered only moments before how she might imitate a tavern whore to please him, but now she realized she would not have to. Her appreciation of his actions came out only in this way. As his beard tickled the inside of her thighs and he eagerly lavished attention on her, Sansa let a throaty moan escape her lips. She knew it from having had him in her mouth just before, that the more sounds he made meant she had been doing a good job.

 

And gods, he was doing a fantastic job.

 

Against all of her better judgement, Sansa’s hand sought the table and she tipped her hips so that he could gain even more access to her woman’s place, now dripping with arousal. His eyes peeked over her mound and looked up at her and he winked. It made her smile like a silly little girl because it was so roguish -- as if he knew he was doing a bad thing and was proud of it. None of the women at court had ever described any sexual encounter quite like this and certainly not with as much enjoyment as she was feeling now.

 

 _‘Joffrey would have never done this ever.’_ She smirked while Sandor’s tonge penetrated her softly. His acts, as abnormal as they may have been, made Sansa feel good. As well as naughty, she certainly felt naughty -- and it was such a release from the restraints placed on her by her name and station.

 

Her other hand went to his head, and she affectionately ran her fingers through his long hair. Sansa was struck by her desire to see his face, to know what he looked like when he worked hard to pleasure her. This seemed to fan the flames of his desire even more for he began to lick her with more voracity. He was touching his erection as well, gripping it firmly with one hand and moving that hand up and down. It made Sansa moan again for it was extremely lust inspiring to see him this way and to feel him doing this titillating deed. By now, all of her friends had finished their stories -- for marital bed interactions never lasted more than five or ten minutes. And they most often did not involve any sort of reciprocity.

 

 _‘He hasn’t even taken me yet.’_ She thought, looking down at him and smiling.

 

When Sandor had had his fill, and she was nearly so weak in the knees she could barely stand, he stood up and took her hand in his -- their fingers interlacing. The bed was not far from where they were, only a couple of steps, but it felt like he was running away from this awful place with her. Sansa had resigned herself to never being happy again, but that had all changed now. She had hope and desire for the first time in a long time.

 

Sandor crawled into the bed, leading her to come with him. He was different now, there was no rush or need to take her in this moment -- he was relaxed. Laying on his side with his head propped up on his hand he was smiling and looking at her. She felt it ironic that most of her life she had dreamt a fair knight would look at her like this one day, and that they would court, marry then be intimate together. This had not been in the case, not by a long shot and yet -- when you broke her fantasies down into the component parts, the most important part was this gaze. His was gentle, passionate and loving.  Laying on her side as well she giggled under his stare. She was just so happy, and it came out like that -- she was immediately fearful he would say something mean. But he didn’t, instead he smiled and kissed her, his warm hand caressing the dip of her hip.

 

Reaching toward him, Sansa ran her fingers through the thick carpeting of hair that covered his chest. Her forehead must have wrinkled up in a funny way, for he looked her in the eye and asked, “What?”

 

“Oh,” She began, “It’s just much softer than I expected.”

 

At that admission he let out a hearty laugh. “Never been petted before. But I think I could get used to it.”

 

She smiled and blushed, but his words gave her food for thought. She was taming him slowly, showing this beast of a man what it was like to be close to another human being, just as he was showing her. _‘Perhaps I could even find myself loving him one day.’_

 

But love wasn’t on Sansa’s mind at the moment, the Hound had seen to that the moment he had knelt down before her. Her hands were moving around his chest and abs, unabashedly taking in his body. She rather liked it and could probably never tire of touching him. He seemed to enjoy it too, allowing her more access to his body by laying back. Lacing her fingers through the hair on his chest she tugged on it a bit.

 

“Does that hurt?” She asked, for she had never seen such a thing before. It amazed her how different his body was from her own -- it excited her too.

 

A smirk crossed Sandor’s face and his grey eyes were smoldering lust, “Feels great.” He replied and she blushed immediately at the thought that what she had done might have been fueling such a look.

 

When her hand brushed across his erection, he quickly caught her wrist, making her gasp at his quickness. A naughty smile spread across his marred face as Sandor reached toward the jar of something on the bedside table and took some cream out of it with his free hand. Then flipping over her captured hand palm up he put the cream in it.

 

“What’s this?” She asked, staring quizickly into his eyes.

 

“It’s so we’ll fit together better.” He said, his voice low. Then he took her hand with the cream and closed her fingers around his penis.

 

He tightened her grip with his hand over her own and began to move it, much like he had been doing as he licked her woman’s place. She knew his manhood was sensitive and she could tell by his breathing that he enjoyed it.

 

“Now pull back the skin and cover the head with it.” He told her, his words but breaths as he watched her touch him there through hooded eyes. If the Hound believed in a heaven, Sansa ventured a guess he was there already. For she had never seen such a contented look on his face before. It made her happy, and she couldn’t help but smile broadly. His hips thrust into her hand as she swirled her fingers along the great tip of his manhood. The human body was an amazing thing, and she wanted to explore it all.

 

Satisfied with her work, Sandor moved toward her and began to kiss her neck again, a hand gently palming a breast from above. She was still moving her hand over him and he nipped and nibbled at her skin.

 

“Now put me inside you.” He whispered in her ear. His words were so quiet and so filled with desire that Sansa wondered if he was begging her, for it sounded as if he was.

 

It was thrilling to hear him say it, Sansa couldn’t deny it. She literally moaned at the very idea that she should take his gigantic manhood inside of her now -- for it had been the object of her interest since she had laid eyes on it. Whatever he had done with his mouth had awoken a beast inside of her, something she would have never known was there without him.

 

She must have looked like the confused virgin she was, for he grunted and took her hand with his cock in it and guided it between her legs. He was on top of her, one hand next to her head to give their bodies some space and the other on her hand with his cock in it. Her legs were open widely and she hadn’t even realized. She hesitated and he just gave her an encouraging look, moving his hand away so she could do it herself. Sansa took a breath.

 

Making sure his skin was pulled back, she guided the head of his erection to the lips under her curls -- the wetness helping her lower lips part more easily. The head of his cock was large, her body already having to stretch as she began tucking him inside of her. He helped of course by bringing his hips forward a bit -- inching the entire engorged head of his penis until was inside of her. He was biting his bottom lip, so she knew he could feel what she was feeling.  It was obvious he was as enthralled with the whole thing as she was, maybe even moreso. Sure, it was a bit uncomfortable but the cream was helping as he said it would, and it was no more uncomfortable than when she had her moonblood.

 

He took her hand from his penis and put it around his neck, now resting on his forearms over her. Sandor then pushed his cock further and she felt a little rip, and gasped into shoulder while holding him close. It was such a strange feeling, to have the intrusion of a man inside of you then to feel your body tearing -- as if it were the hem of a dress. While he obliterated her maidenhead Sandor too moaned loudly, nuzzling her ear he continued to push, his hardness opening her wide, touching her in a way she had never experienced. He was heavy inside of her, threatening to rip her open more if she didn’t adjust to him quickly.

 

The more she breathed and gave into the feeling of him, the easier it became to sheath him -- Sansa realized this quickly. Tentatively she began to kiss his neck, wondering if it gave him the same feeling it gave her when he did it -- minus the tickling of a beard of course. He seemed to like it, allowing her access to his neck while he came to a standstill within her -- her own body at its limit.

 

Sandor ran a finger over her cheek and Sansa only realized then she had her eyes closed. She opened them, to find his grey eyes searching hers with interest. “You’re amazing Sansa. Don’t let anybody make you believe otherwise.”

 

Blinking a small tear out of the corner of her eye, Sansa nodded and hugged him close. They had been all but strangers this morning and now she felt he knew her deepest darkest secrets. Everything had been laid bare to him today, not just her body but also her fears, pain and self loathing -- now her happiness.

 

 _‘He’s the only thing I have in this world.’_ Then she realized that she wasn’t alone anymore. _‘He’s loyal, I see it in his eyes.’_

 

She squeezed him tighter, enjoying the weight of his body on top of her and the security of his ample manhood buried deep within her. Then he began to move within her. Shallow, slow and gentle thrusts rubbing her core in the most amazing way. Moaning loudly in his ear, Sansa gripped his back and tilted her hips so he could more easily slide within her.

 

The Hound’s body was warm, Sansa could feel a thin layer of sweat forming on her body -- but that was nothing compared to the wetness that she felt between her legs. She could hear it as he made his strokes longer, raising up on his knees to take a better look at her. He was in love, she knew that face well. It was the look in a man’s face that all the bards who sung her favorite songs wrote about, it was the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to make his woman happy. She would have never in a million years expected the Hound to be capable of making such a face, but he had and she was humbled.

 

His large hand passed from her neck down between her breasts to her stomach, where it then gripped her hip. Sandor’s eyes were fixated on where they were coupling, he was grunting and laboring more vigorously than before and it felt amazing. To think it had been such a process to get him in, but now as he moved within her, slicked with her arousal -- Sansa only wanted more.

 

Not really knowing what was appropriate, Sansa moved her hips to the lead of his hand. The rhythmic slapping of their bodies only feeding her hunger for more. A little squeak emanated from her throat as she tried to say something. So she tried again, finding it difficult to focus on words with her body ablaze.

 

“More.” She managed to say, hoping it wasn’t out of place to disturb him during his pleasure.

 

At that he stopped, and Sansa instantly began to regret she had ever said anything. Sandor cocked his head to the side and tried to suppress a lopsided grin as he looked down at her in the waning fire light.

 

“Do you mean more? Or harder?” His words dripped with an interest Sansa couldn’t quite yet fathom.

 

She considered his words a moment, “Both.” She answered questioningly, hoping it wasn’t wrong to want it all.

 

Sandor then took the side of her face in his hand and leaned over her, kissing her deeply. “As my Lady desires.” He whispered in the low light, his eyes glistening with excitement.

 

It took only a few of his powerful strokes to have her throw her head back and arch her back in complete disbelief. It was the feeling of him pressing inside her, the stimulation of stiff manhood deep in her core that was driving her mad with lust. Sandor was so powerful and strong, and yet so obedient in his mission to please her. Feeling like she was about to foam at the mouth from he force of his coupling Sansa gripped the sheets for dear life -- forcing her eyes to open so that she could see him more clearly.

 

To observe him in this moment was so exciting and intimate, Sansa could not describe the feelings it unleashed in her. He was her husband, she was supposed to be privy to these things, but Sansa had sorely underestimated the power of the feelings sex could create in a person. And as she felt these feelings build within her, more and more tangible with every well timed penetration, she was gripped by the thought that she wanted to say something. She needed to give him more than just gasping and moaning in response to the pleasure he was giving her. Sandor had leaned over her at this point, his hands on either side of her head. Sansa ran her hands over his massive shoulders and chest, gripping him in vain for something she knew would come but could not understand.

 

At the moment her pleasure was at its height, and Sandor had begun to furrow his brow at the height of his labor, all she could do was call out to him. “Sandor.” And she knew, from that point on, she was his.


	6. Defeated by Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor gets defeated by an unlikely opponent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clegane bowl part 2 you little minxes ;-) 
> 
> It's been a great pleasure writing this story -- I'm not sure if this chapter can top the last one, but I think it's going in a good direction. I also have x-mas parties and relatives this weekend so it's best to just put this out in the world now instead of sit on it for another 4 days!

##  Sandor

 

So lost in the fog of his unbridled lust and release, Sandor had not realized the cramp building in his right glute until Sansa’s sweet little cunt had finally stopped milking him. The woman was demanding, no one would dare say otherwise -- and it drove him bloody wild. It was only once this fog had cleared however, and he had emptied himself completely inside of her, that Sandor had the presence of mind to gently uncouple himself and roll to the side. It would do neither of them any favors if his arms gave out while he was holding himself above her. The Hound’s head hit the pillow and he stared up at the ceiling. There was no other way to describe the heaving of his chest, the pounding of his heart or the cramp in his ass other than pure bliss -- and exhaustion. Though he would have been a liar to profess to anybody that he hadn’t thought of this moment over the years, he had to admit to himself that he had not truly been ready for it. Whether it had been late at night when he couldn’t sleep, while he was staring at the floor of the throne room doing his duties for the King, or trying to stay awake in the freezing cold of some encampment -- for a man not given to daydreaming he had often fantasized about Sansa Stark. 

 

It had always started with her saying something completely out of character like, “I’ve missed you Sandor,” or “Come lie with me,” even, “I want you in my bed Sandor.” No matter what silly phrase she might have used to entice him, the part of his fantasy that never changed was that she had always smiled when she said it. Her face would be flushed with its characteristic scarlet and she had always willingly, knowingly and very gladly taken him to bed. The bed could be anywhere. On the beach, in a castle, his humble soldier's quarters -- that had just depended on his mood at the time. They would talk then, and she would always say something that stoked his ego. “You’re so strong,” “I’ve always wanted to touch you,” or “I feel so safe when you’re here,” were the phrases of choice for him in these moments. No matter what she would tell him in these short talks, Sansa would always giggle as well, not repulsed to have him in her presence. Deep down in his soul he liked her femininity, adored her slight coyness when it came to such topics. Sandor was a man who liked challenges, and coaxing her to give into his advances had always stoked the fire of his desire for her. At some point they would eventually have sex, but it had never been the most important part of his fantasies. The most important parts had been her desire for him, her willingness to share the kind of intimacy with him that she would never share with another. 

 

In reality however, this intimacy had far exceeded any of his expectations. 

 

Sandor had needed to blink a few times once her beautiful blue robe had dropped from her shoulders, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Sansa was tall and slender, as one would expect from seeing her in court. But the dresses and the garments she wore daily, did her figure little justice. Her breasts were much fuller and rounder than he had expected -- enough to fill his large hands properly. Her light pink nipples were aroused, jutting out in that delectable kind of way that made him know she needed them to be touched. Her hips flared out from her waist, more than Sandor would have guessed. He was a keen observer of her form but clearly the cloth she chose to put on herself had covered her true womanly curves from his eyes. He needed her hips to be wide, required something to hold on to when he would take her. The gentle dusting of red curls covering her mound had been exactly what Sandor had expected, and just as sexy as he had imagined. He’d stared at the apex of her thighs a while, for red hair was so unusual, even in the Westerlands, that he just needed to take in its exotic beauty. 

 

Then it was clear he needed to taste its exotic flavors.

 

Knowing she would never agree to such a thing if he had asked, Sandor decided it was easier to beg forgiveness rather than ask for permission. So he had dropped to his knees before her,  _ ‘What better way to appreciate such a creature than like this?’  _ He had asked himself rhetorically while he inhaled her intoxicating scent. It was the musk of a woman, the light sweet smell of her arousal mixed with the headiness of her adulthood. His cock had twinged at that moment, more blood flowing inside than even he had thought possible, its head ballooning to a much larger than normal size. Sandor had licked her then, softly at first so as not to scare her -- then faster. She had been stiff in the beginning of course, that too had been part of his fantasies, but then she had relaxed. Sandor didn’t know if she was just so shocked she couldn’t move or whether she had been too curious to disturb the lapping of his tongue across her most sensitive areas. All he knew was that she stood there a moment before  tilting her cunt toward his mouth. Sandor had grinned into her folds at that point, thrown her a little wink and elicited that little laugh he had always wanted -- then he really got to work. First he had lavished attention on her folds, not wanting to overstimulate her right away. Sandor wanted her good and wet, he wanted her sweet honey to flow into his mouth because -- he fucking loved it. It was only when his lips and his beard were drenched in her juices, did he start to lavish attention on her sweet spot.

 

She was quite aroused, it was obvious to him because this sensitive nub above her mouthwatering slit  was very engorged. Sticking out from its hood, she probably didn’t even know what it was for or that it even existed. But that would soon change. Licking it slowly, Sansa moaned that kind of deep throaty moan of an immodest woman. He knew half the court would hear it, for her windows opened up into the courtyard where all the royal family’s windows also opened. It made him grin sheepishly and taste her again. His licks slowly became sucks and her moans became deeper and more frequent. Sansa dragged her fingers through his hair over and over and he knew he was winning her in the only way he could. He did not have the beauty of other men, nor did he have the kind of temperament that women flocked to -- for Sandor was neither charming nor cared to talk too much. But he was big, strong and had taken special care to educate himself on how to please a woman. In some ways it was an egotistical pursuit, the desire to have a woman look at his fucked up monster's face and beg for more. But he was a fast learner and had the right tools at his disposal to get the job done. 

 

Never once had Sandor ever considered he would fall in love with a woman. Even then he had certainly not counted on marrying one -- and them being the same woman. But through some form of dumb luck, and a boy King who thought he was giving them both a punishment -- Sandor had managed to do both in one night. Sansa made feelings come out in him that no woman ever had. Often it had been this feeling of self loathing -- knowing that he would never be blonde enough, boyish enough or rich enough to turn her head. Now it was something else that he felt, something he had no words for. Sansa was not simply doing her wifely duty to open her legs for him, he knew this because knights often talked about their sexual exploits -- and often they were boring as fuck where highborn women were discussed. But she was different. Sansa was curious and open for these experiences. She was allowing her body to guide her, giving into the pleasure that sex could bring -- _ ‘No, the pleasure I can bring her.’ _

 

He had taken her to the bed at some point, much like he had fantasised about. Never in a million years did he think she’d find his chest hair enticing, nor run her fingers through it with a naughty kind of grin that she surely didn’t know she was capable of. Sandor had allowed her her curiosities, indulged her explorations. He was in no rush, they had all night to complete this act and the night was still young. 

 

When her hand had brushed across his cock, he had taken this perfect opportunity to further acquaint her with it. It had not gone unnoticed that she had been very keen on what was between his legs. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of it all the while she had sucked him. Sandor had groaned when her little eyes sparked and she eagerly rubbed the lubrication over his large shaft. She was trying it out for herself, enticed by something she had never seen or felt before. He’d instructed her to lubricate his head and groaned loudly as her dainty fingers unexpectedly touched all the right places, Sandor could see that fire in her. She liked to please, that was just part of her character -- but she could also understand what she was doing to him. That he liked it. That it made him feel good. That he would make her feel good in return. 

 

It had been difficult to stop himself then, the need to seat himself deep inside of her had grown too strong. To claim her to the exclusivity of any other cunt of a knight or lord who would want to put their hands on her would be a great feeling -- to have her feel safe in his arms an altogether more intimate one.

 

Trying his luck a bit, seeing as she hadn’t let go of his best piece despite the fact that he had moved on top of her, Sandor drew in her scent enjoying its freshness as he whispered in her ear what he wanted. His gamble had paid off, for she moaned softly at his request and not hesitated in the least to do as he had bid. And it had been fucking erotic. Sansa had taken him to her, had guided his cock to where it needed to be. She had eagerly pushed him inside, her tight walls closing in around him. 

 

She wanted him. She desired him. She needed him inside of her. 

 

And he loved her.

 

It had mattered little to Sandor if she had been pure or not. Highborns had always, in his mind, had strange opinions on the subject. All that counted was that she wanted him there, and would share herself with him fully. Pushing into her slowly was the sweetest torture Sandor could imagine. He didn’t know if the way to a woman’s heart was through her cunt, but he’d be a fool not to see if it was true. Especially with Sansa. So he had taken great care to be gentle with her, to show her how much she mattered to him -- hoping it would pay off. Taking her maidenhead had only meant something to him because he knew how she felt about it -- for this bit of skin that had proven her a virgin had been no match for his manhood. He did moan when she held him close though, hearing her gasp in his ear softly as he broke through. She had been searching for something to hold. Something to comfort her in her pain. She was so tight but so wet at the same time that Sandor wasn’t sure how to react, knowing that he just needed to make it to the end -- to fill her completely. 

 

She couldn’t contain his full length, for Sandor had hit the back of her before he was inside completely -- leaving what he wagered would have been two fingers worth of his cock outside of her. It was probably a good thing considering he was thickest at his base, and her body was already struggling to welcome him. Giving her a moment to adjust Sandor couldn’t help but take in her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed and her features scrunched up in both focus and surprise at this new feeling she was experiencing. He was suddenly gripped with the idea that he should say something. There was no clear vision of what that something might be other than a line from one of her beloved songs. But in this moment his memory had, for obvious reasons, failed him. So he just said what he was thinking -- knowing that she had struggled with thoughts of ending her life this very night.

 

“You’re amazing Sansa. Don’t let anybody make you believe otherwise.” She had hugged him then, a tear in her eye and Sandor was just happy he hadn’t bungled the whole thing. Words were not his strength, nor were emotions for that matter. But she was slowly changing that, in the way that only she could. 

 

Sandor had then labored harder than he could ever remember between her legs, mostly at her urging. It drove him mad to hear her, to see her, to feel her enjoying this with him. It could have gone the other way very easily, and Sandor was pleased that she was not as frigid as her homeland. Her blood ran warm like a wolf, and her passion hot like the deserts of Dorne. 

 

Luckily for him she hadn’t noticed he had started cuming first, for her climax was only a few moments after his. Sansa had screamed his name so loud that he was sure the whole Red Keep had heard her. But she hadn’t noticed that either, she was too overwhelmed by this new experience to even know her name. That’s why it was so surprising she could remember his.

 

_ ‘You did well Dog.’ _ Was all the could think as he had stared down at her contented, sated face.  _ ‘Who’d of thought?’ _ He teased himself.

 

“So that’s the marriage bed?” Sansa’s question stirred Sandor from his rambling thoughts. 

 

Inhaling lightly and taking in the sound of her still rather labored breathing. Sandor answered as best he could, in an attempt to restrain his raw excitement over the whole thing. “Uh huh.”

 

He was still looking up at the ceiling but he could feel her move against him, turning herself to lay on her side next to him. “Do you need more to satisfy you?”

 

At that question Sandor lifted his head up to look at Sansa. She had to be crazy to think he hadn’t enjoyed it, to think he hadn’t been over the moon with their vigorous coupling. But as his eyes met hers, and followed them to where she was looking, it all became clear. Sometimes his cock had a mind of its own and would stay erect for quite some time after sex. He never knew when it would happen or why, just that when it did -- it was an invitation to another ride.

 

Not wanting her to feel like anything was the matter, or that she had not pleased him Sandor spoke. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.” He said, capturing her head with his hand and bringing her lips to his. He wanted her to know that everything was fine, and not pressure her into anything more.

 

They kissed a long while, and Sandor could feel that there had been something else behind that question, something more than he had thought initially. When they came up for air he could see her face was flushed, her eyes searching for a way to put something into words.

 

“Out with it woman.” He teased her gently, a grin on his face. 

 

She blinked shyly a moment then steadied her eyes on him. The fire was back in them, the look of the wolf and it made him very happy. “Well I just thought that if you weren't satisfied, that I’d be more than willing to...um...work until you were.”

 

Never in all of his fantasies had Sandor ever imagined that the little minx would ask him for another go. They would always sputter out before then, they would orgasim and then fall asleep -- this might as well have been the best day of his life. She was a treasure, and he intended to do all that he could to show her that.

 

Scooping her up with one arm, he positioned her on top of him. They were forehead to forehead, comfortable in one another’s space. Her body lay flat against his. “You’re gonna be sore in the morning if I take you again.”

 

His warning didn’t seem to bother her, “Says you.” She answered cheekily.

 

At this he chuckled and reached between them, grasping his manhood and placing its head at her entrance. Sandor’s fingers then trailed gently and slowly up her back and down over her shoulders, making her smile a rather naughty smile of satisfaction at his touch. Finding her hands, he placed one on each side of his chest, making sure her little fingers laced into his chest hair firmly. She lifted her head and gave him a questioning look.

 

“I always was jealous of that little filly of yours. You ride her so good and proper…” Sandor’s voice was graviley and trailed off as he could see her expression change from a scandalized to an excited little smirk. 

 

Sandor tilted his hips more toward her opening, hoping she’d get the idea that she was supposed to impale herself on him. There was no denying that he wouldn’t have minded a little break to make sure he wouldn’t crap up again. To his great relief Sandor didn’t need to ask her again, for he could feel his cock sinking inside of her. 

 

_ ‘Gods this is fucking amazing.’ _ Was all he could think to himself. 

 

Her head was tilted back slightly, exposing her breasts and neck even more than normal. She was clearly enjoying taking her time to mount him. “Oh Sandor.” She moaned loudly, her fingers gripping his hair tightly once she had finally taken him all. In this position he could penetrate her deeper than before, and he could see she realized that by the look on her face. It was one of surprise and enjoyment.

 

_ ‘The little fox likes it deep.’ _ He smirked, her greedy body taking him now fully inside. He loved the way she tugged at this chest, his sensitivity heightened by the pain it created.

 

Sandor then grabbed her hips and ass with both hands and helped her slide over his cock. She was smiling and he knew he felt good to her -- really good. He watched her breasts bounce to her movements, her red hair moving over them like liquid fire. She was a vision. A vision of a woman breaking free from all the things she had been told her whole life about herself, about love, about physical intimacy -- and it suited her. Casually reaching around her bum, Sandor couldn’t help but want to get a feel for where they were joined. He wanted to feel the slickness their juices had created on his cock, needed to know how tightly stretched she was around him.

 

_ ‘Fuck!  _ ‘Was the only word running through his mind. Her lips gripped him tighter than a new leather glove, his cock was already gliding easily within her, and their combined taste -- he brought his fingers to his lips -- too good to be real.

 

His hands went to her breasts then, cupping them while he ran his thumbs over the tops of her aroused nipples. She sucked in breath as he did it, but never broke stride as she rode his massive cock. She’d found herself quite a dizzying pace, and he was not one to complain about it. As a matter of fact it was all he could do to stay focused, of course he wanted her to cum again -- and this time first. Taking a nipple in his mouth, Sandor ran his tongue over it -- never stopping with his stimulation of her other nipple. 

 

At this point she stopped briefly, exhaling deeply, “Gods Sandor.” She breathed, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

 

He thrust his cock in her again, reminding her she still had work to do. And she eagerly went back to riding him, releasing his chest so as to sink lower and give him more access to her breasts. Sandor switched his mouth then, not wanting one breast to be jealous of the other. But this one he suckled, short shallow sucks as he gently rolled her other between his thumb and forefinger. She was going to cum soon, he could feel it before she could. Her walls had begun to clench erratically, nothing she could control. It felt like heaven, his cock never wanted to leave her warmth that was for sure. Still at her breast his eyes turned up to her face. A bead of sweat was forming at her temple and her mouth was slightly open to allow her more air. She was riding herself to her pleasure -- and her selfishness only fed his arousal. Sandor wanted nothing more than to have her fuck herself raw on his engorged length. To use his cock as a pleasure toy.

 

She was extremely aroused,  because Sandor could feel the head of his cock keep hitting a little nub inside of her -- and everytime it did she was groaning. Sansa was lucky, not every woman could feel sex the way she was -- fuck he was lucky. When she finally peaked it was a long soulful release. She quivered and shuddered around him with her wals, then collapsed against his chest. The Hound rolled on top of her, pulling out of her slowly and sat back on his knees a moment. He admired her for some time, she was an angel fallen from the heavens, perfect in every way. She wasn’t meant for man, he concluded, but she had chosen him. 

 

Knowing to enter her again might only cause her pain in the morning, Sandor took some cream from his little jar and ran his hand up and down his huge length. His cock tightly in hand and still sensitive from his first release, Sandor eyed his little lady wife -- hoping she wouldn’t find it too strange to see him pleasuring himself when she opened her eyes. She had such a gorgeous little cunt though, the way her legs were parted he could see her folds even in the dimming fire light of the room. They’d been so closed when he had first laid eyes on them and kissed them for the first time. Now they were parted and reddened from arousal and the intensity of their coupling. They looked used, open and it was going to drive him over the edge. His eyes flickered to her face and Sandor only then noticed she was observing him, but for how long he could not say. Her blue eyes were roving his body, studying it, taking it in. He was pleasing to her and it made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. That randy little look she was giving him was going to make it happen. Feeling his balls clench and move Sandor’s strokes became quicker as he brought the tip of his penis to her mound. He made sure to glaze her lips and mound with his cum, covering them with his thick seed. She looked a bit surprised but then he realized she wanted it inside too, a slight pout had formed on her face. So he tucked his head just inside her lips and gave her the last bit. He wondered if she knew how sexy that was. 

 

“You saucy little wench.” He muttered and she smiled at him -- that bloody contented smile he had always dreamed of. 

 

Literally dropping down next to her in the bed, his cock now slowly reducing to its more relaxed size, Sandor pulled her close. Sansa’s back was to his chest, her little body spooned within his own. 

 

“Your seed is quite beautiful.” She murmured, snuggling up to his warmth. 

 

Sandor snorted at her compliment not knowing what to say to it. Not that he didn’t have an answer for that -- but he had pressed his luck far enough for one night. They laid there a long while in silence, the crackling of the fire and the sound of their breathing the only sounds in the night. The Hound had never known this kind of contentment, nor had he held a woman after such an intimate moment before. He liked it. There was something comforting and stable about. As if this had been missing his whole life and he never realized it until now. 

 

His little lady wife was still awake though, Sandor knew it from the beating of her heart. She began to wiggle her little ass near his cock and he nearly barked out a laugh -- knowing what she was fishing for. “I can’t right now.” He said, referring to his flaccid penis. “It seems the Lady Clegane has won this night’s jousting.”

 

Being competitive by nature, Sandor hated to lose anything, defeat was worse than death. But this defeat was ok. He was more than happy to lose this one to his surprisingly formidable opponent. At that she laughed and snuggled her back even tighter with his chest. He inhaled the smell of her hair, pulling the blankets up so as to cover her shoulders. Women were prone to cold in the night, weren’t they?

 

“I feel so safe in your arms Sandor.” She sighed in her half sleep and he grinned. To hear that was better than sex -- it was like sex for his soul. It made the night, and all of his dreams complete. And for a man not given to sleep, Sandor found himself slowly closing his eyelids and drifting into a deep and restful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is Sandor's POV (bringing it full circle) and chapter 8 is an epilogue from Sansa's perspective ;-) 
> 
> As always things for reading! Hugs!


	7. When the Morning Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet little ending for a sweet little story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surviving the winter holidays and was able to get this last chapter in. It's not as clean as I would like but I want to finish and get to the epilogue. That way I can start writing on some stories I've been neglecting. Hugs and, as always, thanks for reading!

##  Sandor

 

A crisp morning breeze blew unexpectedly through the room, and it made Sansa stirr from her sleep. He’d been awake for quite some time by this point, Sandor was not one for sleeping long or deep. It was habit from his many years as the King’s sentinel. But he didn’t mind, now his restlessness served a different purpose, enjoying his wife’s closeness. She had been so still before that moment, the slight sounds of her breathing and the little bit of warmth on his arm, where her head rested, the only signs that she was there in the utter darkness. It was nice to have her there, it relaxed him.

 

Seemingly in vain Sandor could feel her hand reaching out in the darkness for the blankets, long since kicked off and fallen to the floor. Slipping his arm around her, Sandor pulled Sansa back to him and to the warmth of his body. He couldn’t deny that his chest clenched as he did so, afraid in the deep recesses of his mind that she might remember what they did last night and be ashamed, or even disgusted. Rejection by her now would be horrible, it would be a hardship he could not bare. But instead of flinching or fighting, she had turned toward him pressing those pert little tits into his side and had snuggled up to his neck. Her soft breaths near his ear making his morning wood harder, though he was sure she did not know the effect of what she was doing to him.

 

As she threw her leg over his he noticed Sansa flinch, a detectable soreness at the apex of her thighs. Sandor supressed a laugh but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rub it in her face. 

 

“I told you.” He said from the darkness, teasing his little Misses. 

 

There was a long silence, and he could only imagine her rolling her eyes at him for that. Surly she was flushed at his words, beautiful in her moods. Sandor took his hands and rubbed her shoulders and back to warm her up, showing her he was keen to keep the peace. She liked his touch, for he could feel her sigh into his body and snuggle up even closer to him. 

 

_ ‘She’s yours Dog. Against all the odds, she’s yours.’  _ Smiling rather smuggly he added, “You’ll get used to it.” Referring to his cock mostly. With time and practice, she’d be able to take him more and longer -- the prospect was more than he could process at the moment.

 

Clearly she had enjoyed their night together, for she would not be so tender with him now if she had not. Her hand stroked his chest hair absentmindedly and it made him melt. If it were up to him, she could touch him all day, for he would never tire of such things. Her fingertips were outlining his muscles, the way they moved down the midline of his chest and rippled over his abs. 

 

Knowing that if she even brushed the tip of his penis he wouldn’t be able to control himself,   Sandor grabbed up her roaming hand swiftly, “You’re playing with fire woman.” He warned her, though found himself torn. 

 

No red blooded man alive could deny her her desires, especially him. So while part of him was keen to allow her hand to explore below his waist, the other part didn’t want her to associate sex with pain. Perhaps it was his age talking, but he’d rather forego round three this morning so that he could have two more rounds this evening.

 

But then she started teasing him. “I thought you said you couldn’t any more. With words like that a girl should think herself safe.” He could just imagine that cheeky little grin on her face right now. She was pushing him, challenging him -- and he loved it. 

 

_ ‘If she wants to play those games, then she’ll get what’s coming to her.’ _ He grinned sheepishly knowing that he was slowly giving into his naughty side, and throwing his wisdom to the winds. Rolling on top of her gorgeous little body, Sandor began to nip at her jawline. It was a warning, the final line of defense before he might lose himself in her.

 

“What I said was,” he paused for emphasis, “I couldn’t in  _ that _ moment.”

 

Her breathing changed instantly and she pushed her body into his lips more. Sandor could only smile to himself. He had heard of women like this before, women who enjoyed sex as much or even more than men. But he would have never in his wildest dreams have though Sansa could have been one of these women. So he gave into his baser instincts, hoping both of them wouldn’t regret it later. 

 

“But we’re no longer in that moment are we?” He teased.

 

Arching into him, Sandor began to trail his kisses from her neck down to her chest. She spread her legs for him, as if to dare him to drive inside of her in that very moment. Sansa was a demanding little thing, as demanding as she was beautiful to be sure. Then that little minx did something he had not expected, she’d begun to slather his cock with the lubricant he had brought. She clearly knew what she was doing, an innocent maiden no more -- he’d seen to that as he had indulged his own sexual desires. It was perfect, better than perfect the way her little hand held him firmly and her fingers played over the head of his cock. He couldn’t see her face, but she must have been satisfied when he let out an animalistic groan when she had pulled back his foreskin and focused her efforts on his head. 

 

“Seems I have a nymph in this bed instead of a lady.” Sandor managed to grumble out as her fingers passed over the underside of his head, making him moan.

 

She giggled at his words, and he inched his cock closer to its target. The slickness of her own arousal hald already reached her inner thighs, giving him guidance. Her moan as he nipped and kissed her breasts was inviting.

 

“You won’t be able to sit right in court tomorrow. You know that don’t you?” He told her, teasing her again. At this point she was so clear with what she wanted, Sandor felt no need to stop her from fulfilling her desires.

 

“Mayhaps.” She whispered, arching her back toward his lips. “But I’ll have a smile on my face thinking about why that is.”

 

Sandor’s laugh was rough in the twilight of the morning. He couldn’t help but notice how in love she looked in the light pink light that was coming over the horizon. He’d have to dress and leave soon, but there was no harm in indulging her a quick morning fuck. 

 

Teasing her a bit more Sandor kissed her lips and whispered in her ear, “Tell me how you want me to fuck you then.”

 

“Make love to me.” She answered, her plump lips ghosting over his ear. Freezing a moment, Sandor wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never made love to a woman, and wasn’t sure how to draw the distinction -- they were both for pleasure weren't they? Only the meaning was different. 

 

Not leaving him much chance to consider the actual difference between the two types of sex, Sansa brought her arms around his neck and turned his face to kiss hers. It was a deep long kiss, forceful in its hunger but soft on his lips. He pushed inside of her and she winced a little. Breaking their kiss Sandor brought his head up to assess her will to continue. 

 

Concern must have been written all over his face, for she cupped his cheek and smiled at him. “Pain is a woman’s life Sandor. But this pain is so wonderful. Please don’t stop.”

 

Something possessed Sandor then, something that was better left undefined and nameless. His lips went back to hers and he took it slow. Moving his hips slowly, with more shallow thrusts. With her lips on his and her insides clenching him, Sandor felt more connected to her than he ever felt possible. He could gauge her breathing, her pleasure and her needs. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist and they began to grind on one another. It was a sweet movement, something that Sandor would not have thought could feel so good, for he tended to enjoy a harder more pointed rhythm. But this was nice. Mix it then with her sweet little tonge exploring his mouth and her breasts rubbing against his chest and Sandor couldn’t recall a time he had felt so fulfilled. 

 

Rolling over so she would be on top of him, neither one of them broke stride. They continued their coupling and it built a small smouldering fire with him. It wasn’t as intense as their night time activities, but that mattered less to Sandor than he had expected. What mattered now was this growing feeling inside him that threatened to burst out from his chest. 

 

“I love you little bird.” He breathed. He always had and now he knew he always would. For as long as he lived.

 

There was a slight hitch in her voice, as if she were fighting back a tear. “I love you too Sandor.”

 

They made love in the low light of dawn, working up a light sweat that would eventually lead to their completion. “Stay in bed.” Sandor whispered to her, as he got up so that he could dress himself for the day.

 

_ ‘She misses me already.’ _ He smirked, watching her roll onto his side of the bed, where his warm body had been -- and his scent. She inhaled the part of the pillow he had been sleeping on and started to drift off to sleep.

 

“Be safe.” She murmured.

 

Smiling, Sandor finished tying his boots and gave her one last look. They were meant to be together, there was no doubt in his mind. Every fiber of his being sung with the sweet song of love and desire. While their story had started out as a foolish, petty desire of the King -- it would continue as a love worthy of song and rhyme.


	8. Epilogue: Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa flee the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little ending for this one. To be part of this series there must be a surprise wedding and our protagonists fleeing from King's Landing. I give you their flight ;-)
> 
> Thanks for all the support and love. It's been a fun story and nice to write. I don't watch too much TV so this has been my mental bubble gum in the evening!

##  Sansa

 

Gripping the middle of her skirts so hard her knuckles had turned white, Sansa ran through the empty halls of the Red Keep. She had long kicked her shoes off in favor of running barefoot for speed. The dancing of shadows on the walls were her only companions, for Stannis had arrived in King’s Landing. The Blackwater was burning and she had been lucky enough to escape Cersei's grasp. It was rumored that all the women and children hold up with her in the cellar would be killed should Stannis breach the castle’s defences -- Sansa would have none of that. Given what the Lannisters had done to her family, she was confident that Stannis would take pity on her. But Stannis was not her main concern, not by a long shot.

 

“Sandor!” She screamed through the empty halls, barely hearing her own voice over the commotion on the streets below.

 

It was perhaps stupid to think that he might be there, Sandor was known for his courageousness -- always in the Vanguard. But with the green fire now burning in the bay, Sansa hoped that he was not there, that that he had turned tail and come back to her. It might have been clear to anybody who looked at him that he had a fear of fire, certainly it would not have been hard to imagine. But Sansa knew that the was deathly afraid of the flames because he had told her as much. Late at night as she reclined on some pillows and his head rested atop her breast -- he had told her his greatest fears. They had kissed and shared their innermost thoughts, a sweet moment -- perhaps the sweetest in her own short life. That was why she was even more determined to find him. She could not lose him now and not like this -- not to the flames. So Sansa prayed to any god that would listen that she would find him in this empty castle.

 

The most reasonable place to be was in their rooms, perhaps he would go looking for her there. It was a long shot, but even then -- if he never returned -- she’d rather meet her end on her own terms. So Sansa sought out their rooms. Opening the door she nearly jumped out of skin by the sight that met her eyes. Her Lord Husband, in his armor -- helmet on the floor-- was hunched over with his face in his hands. He looked up at her immediately, his had moving reflexively to his sword. He looked like he had been crying, the distress on his face was something she was not accustomed to -- and he was covered in blood. 

 

“Gods Sandor!” She ran to him without hesitation, pulling his head into her chest and cradling him. 

 

Exhaling deeply he wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing her body against his hard metal armor. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from his chest. For she knew his other big fear, to lose her. 

 

“Are you hurt?” She asked into his hair, it was matted with sweat and blood. 

 

He shook his head ‘no’ and she was not sure if he was too shocked to make words or that if he did speak, his voice would be weak. So she let him hear the beating of her heart in the hopes it would calm him.

 

After some moments had passed he looked up at her. “We’re leaving. Put on something for traveling and take warm clothes for the road.”

 

Now that her eyes had focused in the dark room she could see his saddle bags were there, full of supplies they would need to leave the castle. Sansa’s heart skipped a beat.  _ ‘We’re going home.’ _ She knew it in her soul. They had never spoken of it, for they both knew the walls had ears, but now she knew he harbored the same feeling she had. 

 

The questions she had bouncing around in her head must have been visible for he continued his statement. “The King can go fuck himself in that little cunt he calls an ass hole. I’ll burn for no man.”

 

A wicked smile crossed her lips for she knew Sandor had said that to Joffrey’s face. It was only too bad she had missed it. 

 

Moving quickly she ripped her silks from her body and found some leather riding pants, and all the wollen things she possibly owned. Sansa was giddy, and frightened and hopeful all at the same time. When she had turned around again Sandor was standing, the moment had passed and he looked himself again. There was a calmness to him now, he knew what they needed to do and had already formulated a plan. Standing beside him Sansa waited for his word. Instead he turned, wrapping her up in an arm and kissed her deeply -- tilting her toward the floor. To most it would not have been the most appropriate time for a kiss, particularly as passionate as the one they were sharing. But Sansa knew her Lord Husband well. He was drawing strength from her, the strength to do something different -- to uncouple himself from everything he had ever known and move into the unknown. She was proud of him, over the moon actually. 

 

Their kiss finished, Sandor snatched Sansa by the hand. “Keep close, and try to stay calm.” Tiptoeing through the dark castle and on toward the stables, Sansa felt the thrill in the air. She would have been stupid to not be scared in this moment, and she certainly was. But her stomach was also filled with another feeling. 

 

_ ‘Freedom.’ _ It would be the first time since she came to King’s Landing that she would truly taste it again. It made her thirsty and wanting - excitement filled her veins as they mounted their horses. 

 

Looking back on this moment, Sansa could not remember much of what had happened thereafter. She had never seen Sandor cut men down in battle before -- that bit she remembered. But it had not been as frightening as she thought it would. He had been strong and fearless, her shelter on their cold nights in the rough and her protector against man and beast. She had been his strength -- to flee, to change, to love. All of these things were not lost on her as Sansa stood on the walls of Winterfell castle and looked into the great expanse of land that was now theirs. They had escaped, they had fought and they had found freedom in victory -- and that was all they had ever wanted.


End file.
